


September 30th, 1942

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Camp Toccoa, Canon Era, Episode: s01e01 Currahee, M/M, Nixon's got it bad, Small amount of vaguely described smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: "It's my birthday," Lew says in the five minutes they have between waking up and barracks inspection. Every year, Lew announces that as soon as he can find an audience. He's found it makes the whole game ofwho cares enough to remembera lot simpler and less disappointing.





	September 30th, 1942

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 100th Birthday to Lewis Nixon!
> 
> Thanks to Nenya and actonbell for reading this over.

"It's my birthday," Lew says in the five minutes they have between waking up and barracks inspection. Every year, Lew announces that as soon as he can find an audience. He's found it makes the whole game of _who cares enough to remember_ a lot simpler and less disappointing.

Moore lobs a balled up pair of dirty socks at Lew's head, missing by half a foot. "From me to you, Nixon."

"Why thank you," Lew answers and pitches the socks back twice as hard. "And here's for your birthday." He tags Moore right in the ear, and that's a gift all of its own. He supposes that if they ever make it to war he'll wish he'd kept those socks, but that's a worry for tomorrow.

Dick claps Lew on the shoulder and grins at him, an open friendly grin that's all teeth and good will. It utterly changes Dick's face from the serious man who's so lean because he's stripped away everything that's not built for the army, to something almost goofy looking. Lew doesn't know why it makes his chest feel warm, but it does.

"Hey, happy birthday, Lew," Dick says, and his tone matches his smile. Lew has no idea how someone can put so much warmth and sincerity into three words. Lew's certainly never been able to, or never tried. Dick makes him want to try.

"Thanks," Lew tells him as the contact lingers. He hopes that Dick can tell he means it.

The moment ends and they all scramble to get in good order for the day. If Sobel's going to gig the whole company again, it's not going to be because the officers let them down.

Like it had been when Lew was in basic, the rest of the day is just like any other, in this case a Wednesday. The truth is that no one does care, and Lew's fine with that. He got a card from his wife, and nothing from his family, and that's the same as the year before too.

Sobel thankfully doesn't know there's anything special about the day, and runs them up Currahee same as he always does, and then throws them at the obstacle course all afternoon. He says that taking time off for jump training has made the company soft, and he's going to double down on callisthenics until they're fit to wear those new wings. Dick nods seriously like he actually agrees for once, and Lew bites the inside of his lip to suppress a groan.

The truth is that even Sobel can't take the shine off those jumpwings, and Sobel knows it as well as the men. Easy Company earned the right to wear them, despite all of Sobel's chickenshit bullying. It's a petty spark of satisfaction that keeps Lew warm at night, along with knowing Dick Winters only really smiles like that at Lew.

What petty satisfaction doesn't do is make Lew any less exhausted at the end of the day. He shovels chow into his face—army noodles and some kind of ground meat that Lew knows not to question, no cake of course—then falls face first onto his bunk, leaving his boots hanging off the side so he doesn't have to take them off.

Lew's plan is to spend the next half hour working up enough energy to strip, and then to crawl into bed and sleep for as long as they'll let him.

"Hey, Nix," Dick says, and Lew groans.

"Go away."

Dick smacks Lew on the ass—Moore laughs and whistles—and doesn't go away. "Figure Sobel's right about being out of shape. I'm going for a run. Want to come along?"

"I absolutely do not want to move again," Lew mutters into the pillow, but Dick asked, so he levers himself up and starts unlacing his jump boots. What the hell? It's not possible to feel any worse than Lew already does.

Back in his grubby PT gear, Lew follows Dick up the track to Currahee, and hopes they're not going to run the whole mountain again. He doesn't ask, because for once he doesn't want to sound like he's whining. They're going slow anyway, and Lew lets himself fall behind a little so he can watch Dick's long legs and lean ass pistoning up the road ahead of him.

About a third of the way up the mountain Dick slows and turns off into a side path. They have to pick their way carefully though scrubby undergrowth, even in the lingering twilight.

Lew doesn't ask where they're going, just follows until they come out in a shallow bowl on the edge of the mountain. There must have been a rock slide in the last year or so, and the slope is still bare rock and gravel. Dick settles on a boulder that's perfect bench height and looks out over the valley. The lights of the camp glitter below, and the town of Toccoa below and to the north. The rest of the land around here is dark and wild.

Lew closes his eyes and lets the breeze cool his skin. As exhausted as he is, Lew's glad he came.

There's not enough room on the boulder to do anything but sit hip to hip, so Lew does. Dick throws an arm around Lew's shoulders like he's taking his girl to the pictures, and Lew sighs. They don't have many moments like this, and every one feels like it's stolen from the war. They still have a hell of a lot of training ahead of them, but Lew very much doubts that his next birthday will find him in the United States, if it finds him at all.

An orange glow appears on the eastern horizon. It takes Lew a minute to realise it's just the moon coming up, and not a forest fire or some kind of explosion. It rises bright through the trees, a few days past full. They watch it together, not saying anything, and Lew knows that Dick's thinking about the next year and what the moon will look like from the South Pacific or North Africa.

Lew leans his head onto Dick's shoulder, and Dick kisses his hair. That leads to making out, and it's not long before Dick is on his knees in front of the boulder with his mouth on Lew's cock. Lew runs his hands through Dick's sweat-soaked hair over and over again and lets himself make all the noise he wants.

After, Lew strokes Dick off and swallows his cries with kisses, and they lean against each other with their backs to the boulder.

"It's like you knew it was my birthday," Lew says, enjoying the glow of Dick's company as much as getting off.

"I did, actually," Dick tells him. He's absently running his hand up and down Lew's thigh, and Lew feels like he should be purring. "You didn't have to put an ad on the airwaves this morning; it's on your A.G.O. card."

"Huh," Lew says. "Only you."

"Here." Dick fumbles with his boots, and comes up with a small package wrapped in brown paper.

It's warm from sitting next to Dick's shin, and Lew holds it for a moment enjoying the weight of possibility. Dick hasn't been out of Lew's sight for more than a minute and a half all day, so he must have gotten whatever this was in advance. He really had looked at Lew's military I.D. and made plans accordingly.

"Open it," Dick tells him. He's watching Lew's face, and his own expression shadowed, but Lew knows Dick Winters even in the dark, and understands that Lew's anticipation is Dick's suspense.

Lew tears the paper open and tosses it away. The wristwatch inside is clearly from the PX in Toccoa, and what Dick can afford, but it has radon dials and a little cover that can pin down to hide and protect the face. It's a solid, practical thing, and not at all what Lew's father had given him when he turned twenty one. Lew loves it beyond reason.

"It's not—" Dick starts to say, and Lew kisses him to shut him up.

"Thank you," Lew tells Dick when he's done, though can he ever really be done kissing Dick Winters? "I mean it." He buckles the watch on and grins. It looks good. It's still warm from Dick's skin.

Dick rubs his arms, and Lew pulls him into a sideways hug again, willing his body heat into Dick's body. Dick's doesn't have enough fat left on him to stay warm, and Lew doesn't know what he'll do if they end up in northern Europe in the winter. How had Dick survived growing up in Pennsylvania?

"We should go back," Lew says.

"Yeah," Dick agrees, but he doesn't pull away for a long time.

It's Lew who finally stands and reaches down to pull Dick to his feet. He turns and can't see the path any more, but Dick moves past him. Dick is sure-footed in the moonlight and very pale. _Sylvan_ , Lew thinks, watching him pass through the trees. Nothing about Lieutenant Prudent from Lancaster County should make Lew think of poetry. And yet.

Dick's not waiting, and it's follow or get left behind in the dark. Lew follows.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the birthday party post over at [the HBO War Dreamwidth comm](https://easycotroopers.dreamwidth.org/1186.html). There's a _Band of Brothers_ holiday fic exchange happening there too.


End file.
